Snow Angels
by MacMhuirich
Summary: Tim & the gang have gone ice skating as part of some team recreation suggestion. The outing ends in a minor key... Writen as a SeSa for megeesgeek on NFA.
1. Chapter 1: Fun Night Out?

**This was my SeSa for Megeesgeek on NFA**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1<span>: Fun Night Out?  
><strong>.**  
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_"It's a strange world of language in which skating on thin ice can get you into hot water."  
>- Franklin P. Jones -<br>~o~_

"Okay, let's see how fast you can go Probie. If you can beat me to the girls," pointing to the far end of the ice rink, "I promise I'll let off on calling you Probie. Howzat?"

Tim grinned and winked as he gave a thumbs-up. "Deal! Although I know you'll still call me names, no matter what."

Tony's face was chagrined. "You really want me to stop calling you those magnificent names?"

Tim merely shrugged and smiled, before directing his skates towards the outside of the rink. There was a minor teeter, there, which made Tony chuckle. Oh yeah, baby! Timmy-boy was no match for him. Wouldn't take long before McSpaghetti-Legs would kiss the ice! Still chuckling, he joined the younger agent and, after a short countdown, they both sprinted off.

Tim nearly fell over his skates as he took off, but instantly regained his balance and sped after Tony. With determination radiating from his face, he hurried on. Soon, exhiliration and the adrenalin took over, giving him the boost he needed to beat Tony in this game.

He was closing in on Tony! He was closing in! _C'mon, Tony, get your fat butt out of my way.._.He laughed at the course his mind was taking. The tricks that competition could play on his mind was simply unimaginable. Only once before he'd experienced this feeling; this intense competitive streak... In another lifetime. Right now, he didn't have time to think about the past, his focus was on beating Tony, the undisputed alpha-male of NCIS.

Then, as Tim, still laughing, overtook Tony, another skater slammed hard into his side, sending him crashing into the side of the ice rink, knocking the breath out of him as he, absentmindedly registered the snapping of a rib...or two...

He'd never seen it coming. And the skater had taken off like a ghost. As if he'd never been there.

He just lay there on the hard, frozen surface, stunned and winded, and with a surprised look on his face as realization left him with the numbing feeling of a cold pack, that he didn't feel any pain. Not yet, that is. Within his peripheral vision, he saw his friends and other skaters and staff rush over to him. He saw their mouths move, but there was no sound coming from them.

Tony instantly went down on both knees when he noticed how Tim was struggling to raise himself up. He stooped into Tim's line of sight, his own face mere inches from Tim's, at the same time laying a restraining hand on his friend's shoulders.

"Don't move, buddy, help's on the way." He took off his gloves and carefully placed one of them under Tim's cheek.

But Tim only stared uncomprehending at Tony with those big eyes of his.

"Wha..."

"Just stay down, Pr...Tim. Just stay down." Tony patted his friend's outstretched gloved hand. The girls stood nearby, one on either side of an equally stricken Jimmy, who suddenly came to himself, remembering his training. He gently extricated himself from between Ziva and Abby and swiftly came over to the two agents.

Ziva touched the tiny Star of David at her neck and muttered a soft Hebrew prayer, while drawing Abby near for comfort with her other arm. They'd both witnessed the accident. They'd get the other skater who'd run into McGee later. More likely than not, the guy that had hit McGee with such devastating force, had had no malicious intent and this whole situation had merely been an unfortunate accident.

A crowd was gathering which two members from the staff tried to disperse. One of them quickly informed Tony an ambulance was on its way. Tony had risen to his feet as soon as Jimmy had knelt down to take stock of Tim's vitals.

It didn't look good, but then, it might just be nothing really serious. For all it was worth, McGee only had the breath knocked out of him when striking the side and then hitting the ice. But one never could be entirely sure and he could still be suffering some life threatening injury!

Jimmy continued to hold Tim's wrist to check the pulse, which was still fast from the burst of energy which ended mere moments ago. He looked into the young agent's eyes and saw the precise moment when the pain finally started to kick in.

Tim scrunched his eyes shut and hissed. His body became rigid and Jimmy could feel a tremor building up.

"Try to relax. I know it's hard. You're hurting badly, but you have to try. Let's try and concentrate on assessing what's wrong, okay?"

A barely perceptible nod was the only answer he got.

"C...c..cccoollddd..."

"I know. You're still lying on ice. I can't move you, though."

Tony, who'd heard Tim's soft plea, quickly pulled his jumper over his head and draped it gently over Tim's shivering form.

"Hope this helps, Tim."

"Ttthh...an-kss..."

Then he whimpered...and his breath quickened, at the same time becoming more superficial. _Gah! This sucked!_

New voices and a flurry of activity heralded the arrival of the EMT's.

Jimmy got up with some difficulty – his knees seemed frozen in place from the cold - and passed his assessment to the EMT's, standing aside as they quickly started to prepare Tim for transport to the nearest hospital.

Then he was whisked away.

Tony just stood there, running a hand through his hair. God! When had this fun night out on an ice rink suddenly turned into a nightmare?

The four of them stared at one another.

Abby was the first who broke the silence, her voice coarse with emotion.

"It was a bad idea to go ice skating for teambuilding. What was the point anyway? We're a team already! Stupid! Stupid-stupid-stupid! Should've gone for something less dangerous. Like your film quiz, last year, Tony... Or a Trivial Pursuit night!" Tears had made her mascara run and her frantic rubbing her eyes hadn't helped in lessening the streaks adorning her pale face. Ziva pulled a tissue from her pocket and gently wiped most of it from her friend's face.

"It's not your fault, Abby. You know we all enjoyed ourselves. We all were having a blow...until..." Ziva shook herself. "We could never have foreseen this." She rubbed Abby's back.

"A 'blast', Ziva. We had a 'blast'..." Tony stooped to pick up his discarded jumper. "Well. Shouldn't we go to the hospital?"

"Shouldn't we first of all notify Agent Gibbs?" Jimmy piped up, eliciting three pairs of nervous eyes staring at him.

OMG! How were they going to explain this to Gibbs? One agent incapacitated by a stupid ice rink accident in his down-time!

Their gazes bounced back and forth between the four of them. Nobody was looking forward to bringing the Bossman this news.

Then, Tony saw three fingers pointed at him. "What? No!"

"You're the Senior Agent, Tony. The honor's yours..."

"And who's the Probette, here, Ziva?"

Abby had already started walking towards the exit. She wanted to get to the hospital pronto, to see how her Timmy was doing.

Jimmy gave a vexed sigh and started dialing. Gibbs didn't like him anyway, so what did it matter if he bore the brunt of the man's ire? Listening to the dialling tone, he suddenly found Tony had snatched the cell out of his hands.

"Gimme that. You're right. I'm the Senior Agent and it's my task to tell Gibbs." He waited until he heard Gibbs answering his phone. "Boss? We...eh...we have a problem..."

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><p><strong>I hope you all like it enough to read on and spare a minute for a wee review.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2: Boss, We Have a Problem

**I was...bowled over (hope this also works for 'positive' surprises) by the response to this story. I has never happened before that I had this many nice reviews, not to mention the sheer number of alerts! **

**THANK YOU ALL! You've all made me so happy. **

**On with the story.  
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><p><strong><span>Chapter 2<span>: Boss, We Have a Problem  
><strong>.**  
><strong>

_"Okay, Houston, we've had a problem here."_  
><em>- Swigert  Lovell -_

~o~

"So, Mr McGee, all you'll be asked to do is just rest while we wait for the results of the echographies of your abdomen. We'll also need to perform a radiography of your chest, back and head. No other places you experience any pain?"

"N..no. Don't think so."

"Good. Just remember you let us know when you feel anything's not right, okay?"

She put a clean kidney tray on the stand next to the bed. "Just in case... And don't be scared to call us."

He nodded, already feeling his stomach's content rise.

The nurse was about to close the curtain of the cubicle when the ER doctor on watch made his entry, holding Tim's medical notes.

"Ah, what do we have here... The result of a collision on the ice rink..." He was interrupted by the sound of heaving and moaning coming from the bed.

"...The echo didn't show any major internal damage which is a good sign. You may feel some discomfort for a while, though, Mr McGee. You fell with quite a smack."

Tim made to sit up, but the doctor quickly laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Wo-hoa! You're not going anywhere, Mr McGee. We want to keep you here for a while yet. You've suffered a mild concussion which needs following-up, bruised ribs, and your internal injuries, while minor, still necessitate bed rest. So I suggest you stay put until you're moved to your room for the next few days.

The doctor clapped his clipboard shut and turned to leave when he was arrested in his tracks by a groan.

"Sir?"

"You're not serious, right? I can't stay away from work over...over..."

"Oh no? Can you walk? If you can honestly trust yourself to get off the bed and walk out the door without trouble, you're free to go." With a slight bow, he waved his hand towards the door as an invitation.

Tim regarded him warily before bringing his legs over the side of the bed and planting his feet on the ground.

The doctor couldn't believe his eyes when his stubborn patient with a grunt and a sigh made to stand.

"What the...? Oh, come on! What I meant is that I insist you are not fit to leave the hospital, Mr McGee! Please get back in bed!"

Tim was swaying dangerously, a sheen of perspiration on his pale face giving evidence of his pain and discomfort. The doctor quickly, yet gently, helped him back down on the bed.

"You said..." Tim protested weakly.

The doctor sighed. "I know what I said. Just didn't expect you to take it this literally. Trust me: you need to lie down and let your body..."

Whatever else the young doctor had wanted to say, was broken off by a commotion at the farther end of the room. He excused himself to Tim and was about to go and see if his colleagues needed an extra hand for a difficult, maybe aggressive, patient. He was, however held back and stared in surprise at the hand that had gripped his lower arm. Then his gaze went up to meet his patient's eyes. Tim subtly shook his head.

Tim, through all his accumulated experience, had recognized the signs which set off some alarm bells. Besides, he couldn't ignore this tingling that crept up his spine when sensing danger. Maybe his current condition, the injuries, had made him more susceptible to an imminent crisis.

There was more shouting followed by a gun shot which had the young doctor wanting to go and check it out, but common sense seemed to prevail and he leaned in closer to his patient who seemed to know more.

"How did you...? Did you actually pay attention to what was being said?"

Tim shook his head and smiled nervously. "The man's tone... Didn't hear all of it, but I did catch some words... Was enough for me. Not good." He sighed with frustration.

A short moment later, he licked his dry lips. "Doctor..."

"Morse."

"Dr. Morse. I...I'm a Federal Agent. NCIS." Tim whispered with some urgency.

Dr. Morse, a little surprised at this information, stared long and hard into his patient's eyes as if sizing him up.

A painful wince spurred the doctor to insert an IV in Tim's arm.

The fact that Tim didn't protest, said enough. He was in pain and did need medical care.

There was another reason, though. Both men were of the same mind and realized it might be necessary to keep Tim alert just in case they might need his experience as an agent to get out of this situation.

There was more yelling and stumbling and something, or somebody, crashing into a trolley...

A yelp of pain and a curse.

"Get down! Sit!"

Whimpering, and whispering...what might be words of comfort.

"Anyone else moves and I'll..."

Tim and Dr. Morse locked worried eyes.

Soon.

Soon they'd be found. How could they not be?

There were angry steps approaching.

Tim swallowed hard and tried to stop the trembling which was taking over. He was unarmed and hardly in any condition to do anything.

Dr. Morse instinctively laid a protective hand on Tim's bare shoulder for which Tim felt somewhat grateful as it steadied him.

The curtain was brusquely drawn aside, revealing a dishevelled man.

In that instant, Tim recognized underlying fear and...something else, in the man's dark eyes as he looked directly into Tim's.

Grief. Unfathomable grief. He'd recognize this look anywhere, anytime. He'd seen it too often when he'd met family members of murder victims.

Knowing this, he was confused. Torn, too, since the man obviously wasn't in his right mind, consumed by grief... And that grief was most probably the cause of his actions.

This was a normal everyday citizen who now found himself caught in a hopeless situation he'd caused himself.

The man broke eye contact and motioned both Tim and Dr. Morse out of the cubicle.

"Sit with the others and don't try any funny things."

Tim blinked and Dr. Morse opened his mouth to protest.

"Move it! Now!"

Dr. Morse stood firm, though, and tried to plead, keeping his voice soft as he tried to mollify the troubled man. "This patient can't be moved. Surely..."

Keeping his weapon trained on Tim, the man called over his shoulder. "Somebody. Get over here and help to get this man. Any wrong movement and I'll shoot him."

A nurse scrambled to her feet and, with great caution, stepped forward to stand beside the bed Tim was lying on.

He closed his eyes. This couldn't end well. No way was this going to end well...

He felt hands try to raise him by his shoulders and into a sitting position, more or less.

It was pointless to let the others do all the hard work and carry him over to where the other hostages were huddling together in various stages of fright an unease.

Tim opened his eyes and with a grunt levered his legs over the side as he had done earlier on when he tried to get up and walk out.

"Ready...Timothy?" Dr. Morse asked, measuring up his patient to see if he would be able to walk the 20 odd steps to the little group in the far corner.

Tim cleared his throat before giving a hoarse: "I think so."

The nurse and the doctor helped him stand and it became soon very clear he couldn't walk two steps, let alone 20, without aid. They took a firmer hold on his arms and held him up under his armpits, drawing with them the stand on which the IV bag was hooked.

It was a slow procession and by the time they lowered him to the ground, he was exhausted and sweating profusely. The palor had become alarminly pronounced.

Dr. Morse and the nurse shared concerned looks. They had their confirmation that their charge had suffered internal injuries, but to what extent?

The short walk had intensified the pain and Tim wondered when the meds would do their numbing job. He hoped the doctor hadn't given him a dose which would make him too drowsy to the point of dragging him into sleep!

He slowly and painfully positioned his arm so he could rest his head on it, in such a way he could still keep a wary eye on the clearly agitated and unstable man. It's never a good idea to turn your back on your captor!

A sudden sharp pain twisted his gut bad enough to make tears spring to his eyes and he brought his other fist to his mouth to stifle a moan. He momentarily closed his eyes until the spasm passed. When he opened them again, he was gratified to notice nothing had changed.

He'd have to keep a cool head, even if he was still sick with pain and disomfort.

Taking the time to look around at the others, he found they were all staring at him.

There was nothing he wished to do more than close his eyes and drift off, but that was totally out of the question and he stealed himself to stay awake.

Before too long, he got the cogs in his mind turning, hoping he'd find a way to get them all out of this dire situation.

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><p><strong>PS: this story's already been finished and I hope to update daily<br>**


	3. Chapter 3: Standoff

_**Thanks again for the kind reviews. **_

**_The quote I started this chapter with, reminded me of Tony and his eternal movie quotes. I had to use it._**

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 3<span>: Standoff**

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_"Trying to negotiate with him there will be like trying to diffuse a bomb with a Gremlin sitting on my shoulder pulling my hair."  
>-Emily Lehman, movie character in "Standoff"-<em>

~o~

Gibbs strode up to the crowd gathered at the reception desk. "What happened?"

"A man opened fired in trauma..." Tony nervously explained.

Gibbs regarded his senior agent quizzically. "Well?" Something was up. He had a sinking feeling about what was to come. He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was, but looking around the circle of worried faces, he had a pretty good idea.

"...where Tim's being treated..." Ziva continued, sharing a look with Tony.

Ducky turned around in agitation. "Oh dear."

"We have a locked-in hostage situation, Sir." The Metro police officer spoke up, looking from Tony to Gibbs and back again.

"Boss, we..."

"Don't, DiNozzo. Accidents happen, but I'd wished it didn't happen today...when..." _Wished it didn't happen - period!_

"But it did, Jethro. What difference would it have made if Timothy weren't injured and getting medical treatment in trauma? The man would still have done what he did, regardless."

"Well, Tim wouldn't have been in there with a madman for one!" Tony blurted out angrily.

Ducky regarded Tony. "Anthony, tell me how Timothy was when he was brought in."

"I suppose you mean if he's capable of doing something about it? I dunno, Ducky. He was in quite some pain by the time he was loaded into the ambulance."

"We have no idea about his current state, Dr. Mallard. We arrived right after the ambulance. We haven't seen him, yet. And then... Well..." Jimmy piped up.

"Damn!" Gibbs spat out.

"Have there been any demands?"

The officer shook his head. "No. Not yet. We have no idea what this is all about. The more ambulant patients and the medical personnel made it out in time, but there are still people inside. We have no clear idea of how many. Witness accounts vary. I fear there isn't much we can do at this stage..."

"Oh yes we can." Turning to Tony. "Was McGee's phone on?"

"Remember when you ribbed him out for not being reachable? After that, he's taken it to extremes. That phone's an extension of McGeek! Bet he even goes to bed with it..."

Tony wasn't smiling, this time.

"What's this about?" The Met officer asked.

"Why do you think we've taken over?"

"Ah. I see. Either you already know the hostage taker or you've got a man inside...but how...?"

Gibbs didn't bother to listen to the man and already was on the phone, hoping to talk to his agent trapped inside.

"We've got an injured agent...a friend...still in there. That's how." Tony answered while keeping his gaze expectantly on Gibbs.

"We need to find out more about that man...and soon." Ziva spoke the thoughts that had been on everyone else's minds.

"What?" Jimmy asked but quickly bit his tongue for addressing the fierce team leader in such a direct manner.

For once ignoring the young man's audacity, he simply replied: "he's not answering..."

- -.-. -. . .

"Timothy..."

As if from a distance, someone was calling his name. _What? Where?_

"Uh?" With awareness slowly returning, he made to raise himself on his elbows, only half conscious of why he was lying down on his back to start with.

"Whoa! You won't want to do that." Dr. Morse voice came soft and calming.

As his abused body started to protest the movement, painmeds notwithstanding, he let himself be gently pushed down again.

"Hey there! What are you doin'! No talkin'!" The angry bellow snapped him back to full consciousness the hard way and it wasn't pleasant.

Dr. Morse, though indignant, tried to add a placatory note to his voice.

"Look at him. He's hurt! And he's my patient. Surely I can check him?"

Seeing as the man didn't react straightaway, he swallowed and continued in a conversational tone as if talking to a child, doing his best to ignore the gun.

"He's concussed and I need to check on him and ask him a few questions to see how he responds."

The man squinted at Tim, as if assessing, then gave a shrug. "Don't see anything wrong with him. He looks a little banged up, is all. "

"Just because you can't see an injury doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't need close observation!"

As the drowsiness was slowly pushed to the background, Tim tried to find a more comfortable position.

He inwardly cursed the stiffness from lying in an awkward position on the hard hospital floor. Suddenly, the words of Dr. Morse penetrated his muzzy brain.

How long had he been out? What had he missed? How badly was he injured?

Knowing the first 45 minutes were the most crucial in a hostage situation, he wondered what had happened while he was out. How about his friends? Were they here at the hospital? They didn't come with him, he knew, but he was sure they would've been right behind him on the way to the hospital and harass the medical personnel...anything to find out how his status. That's what friends do, right? And they were the finest agents NCIS had to offer... Why! Wasn't Tony Agent of the Year? They surely wouldn't waste any time in trying to get him...and the hostages out of here unscathed.

"Timothy?"

He was startled from his distraction. "What?"

"You okay? How's the pain?" Dr. Morse was looking intently in his eyes, holding his wrist.

Tim looked down. Instead of answering the question, he cleared his throat before asking one of his own.

"How long was I out?"

"Uh? Oh, not that long. You only got us a little worried... You were moaning." He smiled thinly and then turned back to the hostage taker. "He shouldn't be lying on the floor."

The captor seemed to mull over this request. Finding there was no way to allow this if he wanted to watch the hostages closely, his reply was a short "no".

Dr. Morse sighed in resignation. All he could do, now, was keep an eye on his patient and hope he wouldn't deteriorate too quickly. One never knew with internal injuries.

Small whimpering noises, and a mother trying desperately to calm her little daughter, all the time casting beseeching glances at the medical personnel and the man who prevented them to take care of her feverish child.

It was there for all to see: the girl had a bad bout of measles. Bad enough to have worried her mother to such an extent that she'd rushed her little girl to the ER.

That's when an idea struck Tim and he looked at the hostage taker.

What he saw confirmed his intuition. Strange enough for the situation, the man was hardly irritated by the whimpering child. He appeared to be undecided. In fact, it looked like he was keeping himself from going to the child; not to silence it with harsh words. His eyes had become softer.

The child. Definitely the child.

The notion had quickened his breath and it hitched.

"Timothy? Tell me: what d'you feel?"

Dr. Morse checked the IV line in Tim's arm.

"Nothing. I mean...I'm okay. It's just..."

When Tim raised his face to look at the man, he noticed to his chagrin that all softness had left the eyes. They were dark and foreboding.

Time to talk, Tim thought, but wasn't there one rule about not speaking unless spoken to?

But he needed to know. Maybe...just maybe he could try to talk the man out of his intentions if he learned more about the man's issues? There must be a reason, and, according to Tim, it had everything to do with a child. And since this was a hospital... Could the loss of a child be the cause of his fragile emotional state?

Tim took a deep breath which sent a spasm through his chest. Damn ribs...

"Help me up a bit, please," he grunted.

Dr. Morse was about to protest but anything he'd wanted to say was smothered by the intense and daring look in the green eyes of his patient. They were painfilled, yet demanding.

He complied with a resigned sigh and helped Tim into a more or less sitting position against the wall. By that time, Tim was sweating profusely, his skin a pasty color.

Dr. Morse once more wanted to talk to the man and again Tim held him back.

Tim frowned and then squinted at the man, blinking his eyes for a clearer vision.

"Hey," he called softly, trying to get the man's attention.

"What?"

"C... you at least tell us what this is all about? In what way we may help?"

"What?" The man asked incredulously.

In two steps, he was hovering over Tim, wild eyed and shaking as he played nervously with the gun, causing Tim to flinch and press his back closer to the wall.

"Help! From you?" His voice had gone up at least an octave at the last note.

He turned around as if to step away and return to the pacing.

But Tim was quick to rally, his agent's training prevailing, and it impressed even himself, if not the others nearby.

"Why don't you tell us your name? I'll give you mine. I'm Tim." He pauzed,contemplated giving his profession. He didn't want to intimidate the individual. On the other hand, he might be accepted as a negotiator. After all, he was the only law-enforcement officer present on the scene. It was his duty to offer help. _Rule 38? Yep. My case, my lead...in this room, at least._

"I'm a Federal Agent, so, yes, I might be of some help. That is, if you let us."

The talking, he admitted, was wearing him out. He also discovered this wasn't doing any good to his heart, feeling how it thudded against his ribs as if trying to break out and make a run for it.  
>However, he'd felt this increasing pressure to do something, to take action. But action – active action – was out of the question and not only to his physical inability at the moment. He knew it never was a good thing to try and solve hostage situations this way. A more delicate approach would certainly prove more effective in the end.<p>

Suddenly, the captor spun on his heels and loomed over him as he spit out: "and what sort of help would you be able to offer anyway, eh? Nobody can help me! I'm beyond any help! Got nothing to lose. You hear me? AB-SO-LU-TE-LY NO-THING TO LOSE!"

The little girl sniffled and seemed to literally shrink when she tried to hide behind Dr. Morse, even as her mother threw protective arms around her, all the time looking at the man with frightened eyes.

The silence that followed his outburst, was that of a tomb.

"_Well done, McGee,_" Tim thought morosely, letting his eyes fall shut as he slumped back. "_So much for your negotiating tactics..._"

Still, he thought about other ways of achieving a peaceful outcome for this crisis. He would need all the information he could gather.

Dr. Morse's phone rang, making him start.

"Pick it up, and no funny games, you hear me?"

The doctor mutely acquised and listened to the caller. After a short while, he put his cell on the speaker as requested by the other person.

"_Hello. I'm Federal Agent Gibbs. I'm here to help you get through this. Can you answer a few questions?_"

Tim heaved a sigh of relief at hearing his boss' voice. It felt as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. His team were there and they would work this out.

"Why?"

"_We've got to start somewhere, right? I'm afraid I'm the only link you'll get with the outside world, for now._"

The captor let his gaze fall on Tim.

"I...I have... There's... I have a Fed here with me."

"_Can you pass him on the phone for me, please?_"

Tim raised an eyebrow at this. Gibbs? Saying '_please_'?

With pointed gun and a hard "don't try anything" look, the man passed the cell to Tim, who swallowed before croaking out: "hi, Gibbs."

"_Tim. Are you okay? How many...people are there with you?_" It was clear Gibbs didn't want to antagonize the captor.

"Y...yeah... I'm...okay. We're...se...eight in here, including..." Tim looked at the man standing nearby in anticipation.

"Malcolm will do. Should be enough."

"...Malcolm."

"_Any injured?_"

"No. None by Malcolm. Just the...what brought some of us here to ER." Tim had ended the sentence with this little nervous giggle.

_"I see._" Pause. "_You sure you're doing okay, Tim?_"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

The fact that Tim's answer was more a sigh than anything else spoke volumes to Gibbs. He was in a way pleased to hear the young man, but he still had no idea how bad Tim's injuries were, but he sure wasn't fine. That much he knew.

"_We'll get you all out, Tim. In one piece. Just...hang on, will you? We trust you. You understand?_"

Malcolm snatched the cell from Tim's hands.

"That's enough chit-chat for now." And then he switched the device off, laying it on the table behind him.

The more Tim thought about this crisis, the more he realized he was to be the primary negotiator in here.

With a wince, Tim shifted to find a better position without jarring his ribs and all those other places that had started to hurt.

He let his eyes go up to the bag. Dr. Morse, keeping a professional eye on him, had followed his gaze and was about to attract Malcolm's attention to ask for a new baxter. Tim, with a quick flick of his eyes and a diminutive shake of his head, kept the physician from doing his intentions. He had to keep a clear head if he wanted to resolve this situation without any bloodshed.

"Malcolm?"

The man, having been sitting as if in a brown study, looked up. "What?"

"What is all this about? Has any injustice been done to you? What do you want?"

"Injustice? Yeah. That's what I'd call it. But it feels worse than just injustice."

Tim nodded understandingly.

"There's a lot of injustice in the world, Malcolm. Surely there's a way to deal with it?"

Tim was keeping his tone quiet, even a little sympathetic. He needed to keep the man talking. He had to gain his confidence.

His assessment so far was he was dealing with an emotional man. Obviously, Malcolm had been hit bad by some tragedy. To Tim, he came across as a reluctant hostage taker, which made him more determined than ever to bring this ordeal to a satisfactory conclusion.

The man seemed to ponder about the question and he looked at the huddled bunch of people. Terrorized faces stared back at him.

Inwardly, he was terrified himself. Slowly falling apart.

These people... Innocent people...

When he'd been planning this, it had seemed so just. Now, he saw his resolve almost crumble. And yet, he couldn't give up. He had to go on with what he was doing. What did he have to loose, anyway? He'd lost too much. His life...had so drastically and irreparably changed.

"I have no choice."

Malcolm hadn't even noticed he'd been saying this aloud.

"Then tell me what happened. Please. Can you do this?"

Malcolm looked at the girl close to Tim and saw how she cringed in fear and tried to stick to Tim, as if wanting him to save her from this angry man.

Dr. Morse tried to check the child as she clung to Tim.

Malcolm was struggling with his inner turmoil. How had it come this far that he would frighten a child?

"Okay. I'll tell you."

- -.-. -. . .

Gibbs was still staring at the phone.

"I hope your boy in there isn't thinking of playing the hero. We don't want a nervous and panicky hostage taker on our hands. It would complicate the situation when he becomes desperate and irrate." The Met officer said.

"Don't you think we know that?" Tony spat out.

"My '_boy_' won't play the hero. He's the most level-headed agent I know." Gibbs pointed out.

"Yeah," Tony continued. "This is the man who's so over cautious he'd think twice about things like... tying his own shoelaces!"

_ *twack*_

"Shutting up, boss..."

"You'd better if you don't have anything better to share."

"So, all we can do now is wait until we hear back from him or McGee, yes?"

"It will never do to precipitate the negotiations, my dear. So, yes, Ziva, that's what we'll have to do. But I do hope Timothy will be strong enough to bring about the release of the hostages."

"Well," Jimmy looked around the circle of faces, "he's the only one close enough to the captor to act as go-between."

The Gibbs turned to the Met officer. In truth, he was addressing his own two agents. "Go check the closed circuit security cameras. I want to know who went in to ER. By eliminating those who made it out in time, we should be able to find out who's still in there. Run facial recognition and background checks on all of them."

"And how about McGee?" Tony asked, now so very serious. "After all, he's our primary negotiator."

"Tony, you know McGee wasn't in such a good state. Who can tell how long he'll last?"

"You can't talk like that, Ziva."

"I'm only stating the obvious, Tony."

"Are you two done? I think I gave you both some work to do. Off with you."

The two scurried off.

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><p><strong>You're still welcome to review if you wish.<br>**


	4. Chapter 4: Dialogue

**_Enjoy this next chapter.  
><em>**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 4<span>: Dialogue  
><strong>

.**  
><strong>

_When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but creatures of emotion._  
><em>- Dale Carnegie -<em>

_~o~_

Back at NCIS, Tony and Ziva had been through the tapes with Abby, staring so intently at the screens until they ended up cross-eyed, but at least they'd managed to narrow the faces down to the happy few still being held in ER.

Next, they'd each crept behind their own workstations to delve into the ID's and running backgrounds of the remaining people.

After a while, Ziva pushed her chair back and got up to stand in front of Tony's desk.

"Okay. Done. When you're ready, we can compare notes, yes?"

"Yep." Tony walked from behind his desk and joined her to face the big flat screen. He clicked the remote and a couple of open screens from his desktop popped up.

They both stared at the various screens for a while.

"Okay, I think we can dismiss the medical personnel, I guess. They've had more than enough opportunities to react as our Malcolm X had."

Ziva nodded.

"And after the background checks, the others mostly seem run of the hill average people."

"Run of the _mill_, Ziva. _Mill_."

From the way she didn't pursue the matter, protesting as she usually did, Tony could tell she was also shaken by the turn tonight's events had taken. One moment, they'd all been like a bunch of carefree friends enjoying a night on the icerink; the next...

"Besides, one of them obviously isn't just run of the mill, Ziva." He turned angrily towards her and pointed the clicker at the screen.

"One of them's so screwed up he's set up a hostage situation! And my friend who needs medical help is one of them!"

"He's also my friend, Tony." Ziva answered quietly. "But right now, he's a Special Agent as well as our best chance of bringing this to an end without causing casualties."

Tony looked at her for a long time it almost was disconcerting. It was so uncharacteristic for him to act so...brooding.

"Yeah... None better than him to be understanding enough to get a rapport with...our man."

He tapped his teeth and looked pensively at the faces again.

"There's a doctor, a nurse, what looks like an intern, a medical secretary, a child and her mom, two men and a woman plus...Tim...as patients. Those are the ones still remaining inside. How-e-verrr..." He sprang into action and strode to the elevator.

"What?" Ziva asked, throwing her hands in the air, irritated by his sudden secretiveness.

"What motive would get a person desperate enough to takes hostages in a hospital?"

Ziva's eyes lit up in understanding.

"Exactly." Tony grinned, stepping into the car, closely followed by an excited Ziva.

When they arrived at Abby's lab, they were taken aback by the lack of loud music.

"Abby. Would there be a way of finding out about medical errors and the link with one Malcolm? We're not sure that's our guys real name, but it's a start. "

"Well, I coud go over their database and the medical error reporting system. Have you any idea how many medical errors there have been reported? Only the reported ones? The mind boggles at the sheer magnitude of how many are left out! Those either covered up or simply unknown!"

"That all you can give us? Now we're disappointed."

"To-nyyyy! I've got my programs running for this specific case. Now, shoo! Out! I need to concentrate. You'll know when I got something."

The two agents wisely removed themselves from her domain and went back upstairs, hoping they could still glean more information pertaining to the case.

"Ziva. Tony. I got a name! Guy's Malcolm Cooper! And here's his personal story! We're dealing with a pretty desperate man, guys."

- -.-. -. . .

Everybody in the room had been listening with bated breath. What they'd heard was too sad for words.

How was he going to deal with this?

Tim shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and index. God! This whole business was just draining him emotionally as well as physically.

Malcolm spread his arms and looked at the silent audience.

"Don't you see? They'll always get away with it! I want to see them pay for this! They took my baby away! You hear?" He was raising his voice by now.

Tim raised his head and looked straight in Malcolm's eyes.

"Your little son – what about him? He needs his dad, you know? If you keep this up, you'll end up in jail as any ordinary criminal. Is that what you want? Do you think you will help him by doing this? Surely this is not the way you want your little kid to remember you?"

"I had dreams for Naomi!" Tears coursed down the man's face as his eyes took a distant look.

From the corner of his eyes, Tim noticed the men share looks. He recognized the signs and he didn't like it one bit. Of all the things he needed now, men playing the hero wasn't one of them. He had to nip it in the bud.

How to attract their attention?

Ah! No need; they were looking at him. Probably hoping he would play along with whatever they were planning. But plans in such a crisis tend to backfire. He couldn't risk this and didn't understand how those two men didn't see the senselessness in this either.

The last thing he wanted was the hostages trying to fight. Too many times, history had shown that, when that happened, the hostage takers had lost their cool and started shooting. No. This was not an option at all as the men's unthought action would put them all at risk and where would he stand then? Provided he didn't die in the ensuing scuffle! A lot more could be accomplished with conversation, understanding, to get everybody out of this situation alive.

But, as things stood now, too much could go wrong, so he gave the men an almost imperceptible shake of his head. With a slight widening of his eyes he willed them to stay calm and let him handle it further.

Malcolm continued as if he hadn't noticed a thing. "She was the daintiest little thing...looking so cute in her pink ballet tutu. Teacher told us she was a natural. So sweet and innocent... Because of them, I won't be making snow angels with my baby ever again... They took that away from me!"

That brought his anger back to the surface. "My little girl!" He cried out, his voice breaking. "A stupid, ordinary appendicitis! What could go wrong with such a simple routine! In a state-of-the-art facility?"

A movement caught his eye and he swerved the fire arm in that direction. "I said no funny business!" He cocked the gun.

The little girl beside Tim, clung to her mother. Her little face was flushed and her eyes looked old in the young face. Looked like the kid was running a bad fever.

Crap. Tim thought tiredly as he was suddenly and painfully reminded of the reason some of them were here.

"Hey you!" Malcolm wiggled the gun as he motioned to one of the men at the far end. "Face down on the floor! Now!"

"Oh God!" Dr. Morse mumbled in shock and looked at his patient. "This is bad. This is so bad..."

Tim had to do something. This standoff was taking too long. He took in the other captives. _The man's becoming volatile. Can't have that happen, now_.

He held up his hand trying to catch the man's eye. Too much all consuming sadness lodged in there. He blinked to clear that thought from his mind. _Focus, McGee. Focus_.

"Malcolm. What do you really want? Are you trying to exact revenge for the death of Naomi? It won't bring her back to you, you know?"

With a pang, his attention was attracted by the little girl letting out a small whimper as she lay curled up to her mother's side who had her arms protectively wrapped around her.

Licking his dry lips, he went on. "Or do you want us to re-investigate the circumstances of her..." He couldn't continue. The death of a beloved child always hit hard. He truly had no idea how he himself would behave if this happened to him. So he tried to put himself in Malcolm's place. Perhaps this was not the cleverest thing to do, but this was him.

He would be devastated, too. There was no telling how he would react.

What would he do? Demand justice? How? More importantly, in what way would he like to see it done?

One of the men groaned. Hm. Another one whose pain meds were starting to wear off.

Thinking of which...his own pain was getting worse and he was becoming increasingly lightheaded. He couldn't last much longer, he knew, before exhaustion and his injuries would let him slip into dark oblivion.

But he wasn't thinking of rushing things. Not yet.

However, he sensed he was getting through to the man. If only he could get the man as far as to surrender himself? The man needed help. This much was sure.

Seconds dragged as Tim thought about what to say to make Malcolm see the senselessness of his actions.

"Timothy..."

He opened his eyes. He hadn't realized they'd fallen shut.

Now he peered through half lidded eyes at the captor.

"Please, Malcolm. Think. There are people here who need medical help. This little girl..." His words came in a shaky whisper, all strength leaving him. "Look at this little girl. Would you really deprive her of the chance to make snow angels? How about your little son, Davy? Wouldn't he love to have that chance, too?"

"Stop it! I know what you're doing!" Malcolm shouted.

The phone rang and everything waited for him to answer it but he made no move towards it. He just let it ring. He brought his hands to his ears to block out the noise until it stopped, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

"This girl has a fever, Malcolm. Don't you want her to get better?" Drops of sweat ran into his eyes and he ran his hand across his face, furiously blinking to clear his eyes.

"Shut up! Just...just shut up!"

"I know you don't want this, Malcolm. You're a father. You loved Naomi, but please don't taint the image you have of her by this.

"I said enough!" He raised his gun till it aimed it directly at Tim.

He was sobbing and his hand was wavering.

"We can get us all out of this. You too. Trust me, Malcolm.

Tim pushed himself more upright and looked deep into Malcolm's eyes. He knew he was taking a whale of a risk, but as long as he had the man's undivided attention, the others stood a better chance.

He was scared but the adrenaline rush gave him strength.

"Let us help you, Malcolm. If we can end this peacefully, the charges won't be half that bad for you. You haven't hurt anybody so you still stand a good chance."

"That won't get me my little baby back!"

"No, it won't. True. But you still have Davy."

The man was shaking and crying. "What have I done! Oh Lord! What have I done!"

Tim grimaced as he felt another stab of pain in his gut.

Trying to keep his voice controlled and confident at the same time, he kept on talking soothingly to the man.

"Please let the other hostages go. We can still talk a little longer – just the two of us - and try to figure out what can be done for you. There has to be a solution. Everything can be fixed." He was panting and closed his eyes for a few seconds when he had a dizzy spell. He continued. "This, isn't the way to do this. Trust me, Malcolm: this really isn't the solution to your problems."

His speech had now turned into a whisper. "_Please, let this be over soon,_" he thought, panic rising.

"STOP IT!" Malcolm yelled and pulled the trigger.

Tim flinched and shut his eyes tightly in preparation for the impact.

He had failed...miserably...

Such...was his last thought...

* * *

><p><strong>...and a wee cliffhanger put in at the end of this chapter for good measure. ;D<strong>


	5. Chapter 5: Choices

**_Sorry for the cliffie at the end of the previous chapter. LOL  
><em>**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 5<span>: _Choices_  
><strong>

.**  
><strong>

_"It's choice-not chance-that determines your destiny."  
>- Jean Nidetch -<em>

_~o~_

__

Out in the waiting area, Gibbs slowly and gently put down the phone again and rubbed his face.

"He's not answering."

"Well, so far nothing noticeably bad has happened. There have been raised voices at intervals, but otherwise any conversation they had seems okay."

"That is a good thing, isn't it?" Ziva had heard that last as she and Tony approached the group of people.

"Well, my dear... I'd rather see this crisis end as soon as possible since we're also dealing with people who desperately need medical treatment. On the other hand, it is good that Timothy takes it slow. He is a good listener and his calm demeanor definitely is an asset in such situations."

"Really, Ducky? Then you haven't seen him in other crisis situations. Doesn't take that much to freak him out, you know?"

"You're exaggerating, as usual, Tony." Ziva scoffed him.

"Exaggerate? Moi? Never, my sweet little Israeli firebrand. Timmy can be such a baby. I bet he's going all compassionate or emotionally bonding with the hostage taker."

Before he knew what had happened, she had pinched him in the neck almost bringing him down on his knees. To her, his yelp of pain, was gratifying to hear.

"If that's what it takes for him to resolve this crisis without bloodshed, then he can be...emotional all he wants."

"And you'd have shot your way through like you were on S.W.A.T. and killed the poor bastard."

"Will the two of you stop that? McGee's doing a fine job, so far. You both seem to have forgotten he was injured to start with."

That shut them up and Gibbs gave them a long glare. His defense of McGee had surprised him as much as it had them.

"Still nothing to be seen from here?" Tony craned his head as he tried to peer inside ER through the small windows in the double doors, taking care he wouldn't be noticed from the inside.

"Don't bother, Tony. They're all assembled at the other end of the room. You can't see them from where we stand. Tell me what you've got. I trust you haven't been idle?"

"Yeah. About that. We got a name." Tony waved the file in front of Gibbs.

"Malcolm Cooper, father of...one surviving child, a boy named Davy. Wanted to sue the hospital for negligence after his eldest daughter, Naomi, died. Presumably from a medical error... But he'd been discouraged to do this by being told it would be a waste of time – wouldn't change anything. Divorced: wife left after the death of their daughter. There was the resulting fight over custody for their son..."

"Well?" Gibbs raised his eyebrow as he waited for the "but" in there.

Ziva shrugged. "The woman died and her parents took over the..."

Whatever more she was going to say was cut off abruptly by the loud report of a fire arm and a lot of screaming in the other room, causing a general shock.

"Shit, shit, shiiiiit!" Jimmy Palmer cried out as he ducked behind a desk, pulling Ducky with him as he went.

Abby stood frozen in the middle of the room. "Timmy!"

Then, there was another shot...and another...and yet another one...followed by...silence...and a flurry of activity as they now were triggered into a change of tactics.

The law-enforcement officers took up their positions at the doors that led to the trauma room as they made ready for assault whilst Gibbs picked up the phone once again hoping to get somebody on the line.

While he was waiting for the connection, he signalled for the men to stay put.

_He was about to put down the horn, no longer expecting anyone to pick up, when he heard the distinct click on the other end of the line._

_"Y…yes?" A tentative and obviously shaken voice answered._

Gibbs, brow furrowed in concentration held up his free hand to the others.

_"Who's this?"_

_"I…I'm Georgina Franklin… I'm a nurse. We're…we're alright. We...we...'re coming out. Please don't shoot! Please!_" 

- -.-. -. . .

The first thing Tim's brain registered was that someone was gently slapping his cheek and calling his name repeatedly, the sound of this as if slowly resurfacing from watery depths.

Blinking furiously, he tried to sit up but was instantly reminded of his injuries. Instead, he looked frantically around in wonder, his eyes resting on a dark-skinned man in scrubs.

"Dr. Morse..." he croaked.

Then... "I'm alive?"

The doctor grinned but became serious again in an instant.

"Yes, Timothy, you're still with us. Alive, yes; okay's another thing."

A frightening thought struck him, causing his breathing to come fast and erratic. He started to check for bullet injuries. His chest, which was hurting like hell anyway.

"He...he...shot me! He shot me?"

"What? Oh, no!" Dr. Morse hastened to reassure him and then glanced aside, allowing Tim to follow his gaze.

One more blink and his eyes adjusted, focusing on the man behind the doctor.

"M...Ma-lcolm? You...you..."

Tears were falling from his face as he haltingly tried to explain. "I...I couldn't...shoot you... I...I..." He grabbed his head with both hands in abject misery. "Oh my God!"

Malcolm sank down along the wall next to Tim, on the spot now vacated by the mother and her sick little daughter. One of the medical hostages hadn't wasted precious seconds and had taken the child to lay her on one of the beds for the delayed treatment. Her mother standing beside her, brushed the fevered child's locks from her forehead, all the while talking soothingly.

Again, the phone rang, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Somebody, the nurse, got up and went to answer the call, then went to open the door.

Tim closed his eyes again. He was so tired. He was gonna be alright.

Dr. Morse laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Timothy. You can finally rest. We're safe again."

Another hostage had come closer, tears of relief on his face. "You've saved us, A-agent McGee. Even injured, you managed to remain calm...help us regulate our own fear. Thank you."

"What now..." Malcolm morosely asked to no one in particular.

That perked Tim up again; snapped his eyes wide open at the sudden realization his job wasn't done yet!

Wincing, he reached out towards Malcolm who, after a slight hesitation, took his hand with the deepest gratitude radiating from him.

"I'll...I you a...a promise. Get...help...ff..for you..." The past rather stressful events finally catching up with him, he passed out.

The man gave a sad smile and heaved a deep sigh, feeling all former tension dropping from his shoulders. His boy still needed a father and, with some help, he might be able to cope with his grief and his problems which, until moments ago, had seemed absolutely insurmountable. Malcolm simply knew this courageous federal agent had meant every word he'd said.

That's how a puzzled NCIS team and the others found this...incredible and rather outré _tableau vivant _once they stepped inside ER. If it weren't for the intel they'd gleaned from the files, they sure would have had some trouble distinguishing the hostage taker from his hostages...

* * *

><p><strong>One last chapter after this.<br>**


	6. Chapter 6: Snow Angels

**_Last chapter! _**

**_A virtual Abby-hug to all you fabulous readers, reviewers, and those who favorited and alerted this story!  
><em>**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 6<span>: Snow Angels  
><strong>

.**  
><strong>

_"The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event."  
>- Anonymous -<em>

~o~

**Several weeks later...**

"Hey, look! It's snowing!" Tony cried out with all the excitement of a child.

Tim, looked up from his keyboard and turned his gaze towards the windows. It was a sight which lit up his entire face. Soon, a wide grin spread across his features and he slowly got up from behind his desk and went to stand there, nose nearly glued to the window panes.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialled a number.

The others, watching with interest, had no idea who was so important to him to merit a call...when it was snowing.

After the call, he remained on the spot, still gazing out at the fleeting flakes of snow swirling down to spread a soft white cover over Willard Park. Six sided tiny crystals, every single one of them, were dancing in the winter sun.

Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, Ziva sauntered over to where her friend stood in silent admiration. Tony followed suit.

"Are you going to let us in on who you were just talking to on the phone?" Ziva asked, not beating about the bush.

"Tsk, Ziva! Subtlety isn't exactly in your dictionary, is it?" Tony said, but then his own curiosity knew no boundaries and so he rewarded Tim with one of his sternest looks- all in jest, of course. "Well, Probie? Are you gonna tell us or what?"

He twirled his index in front of his face. "And you have that odd dreamy look."

"I've seen that look before. It's...it's...like a baby done something...in its diaper... I've seen that look before. They get all happy about it, when they've done that."

Tim laughed at that.

And they loved the sound.

He turned to look at Ziva with a twinkle in his eye and nodded, before completing his 180° turn to walk back to his desk, knowing the others would follow him.

"I have an appointment with a very special someone."

Tony perched on the corner of Tim's desk, pushing back a pile of files.

"And who is that special somebody, McRomeo? How come we haven't heard about her?"

"It's not nice to keep secrets from your friends, Tim." Ziva chided, her arms crossed in front.

Tim looked up at them with false hurt. "Aw c'mon, guys!"

Then, a thought occurred to Ziva. "Oh no! What's happened to Maxine? I thought you were still with her?"

"You sure don't say much about her, McSecret!" Tony frowned accusingly.

"Maxine's fine, Ziva. This, however, hasn't got anything to do with her." He looked at his watch and jumped into action, closing down his workstation and packing his stuff.

"First snow. Davy Cooper's waiting for me. I made a promise to his dad."

Closing the zipper of his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, he looked at them, giving a small nod, compressing his lips a little, before taking long strides towards the elevator.

He stepped in the car and turning around to face out and yelled "cover for me, will ya?" Then he gave a thumbs-up.

Tim never noticed Gibbs who rounded the corner, just as the doors slid closed.

Arriving at his desk, he took a sip from his coffee and sat down. Looking up at his remaining team members, he gave them his trademark glare. "You heard the man. Haven't you both got stuff to do?"

He didn't wait for their protests, which he knew they wouldn't mean anyway, and just smirked as he tuned his attention to his own desk.

- -.-. -. . .

A man and a young boy stood looking around them at the pristine carpet of snow that covered the park grounds.

The man looked at his young companion and gave a boyish grin, before running off, down the hill, spreading his arms and giving a joyous laugh.

The boy didn't wait long and ran after the man. Tentatively first, his peals of laughter soon joined the man's on their downward run.

They stopped, a little out of breath.

"Now?" The man asked with a timid smile.

"Yes!" The boy replied nodding excitedly.

"Here we go!"

And they both flopped down in the thick soft layer of snow and onto their backs, briskly moving their arms sideways, up and down to their sides and back up again. Their stretched legs went out and in again, too.

They got up and a few yards further away, repeated the movements.

The man, finding his inner child back, quite enjoyed this experience. Like a big kid...

Eventually, they trudged uphill again, turned around and considered their masterpieces: snow angels. Guardian spirits, pure, kind and beautiful.

They just stood there, in silence, still panting a little.

"I miss mom..." Davy said with a catch in his voice, his lower lip trembling a little.

Tim drew the boy close to him and looked down upon him.

"She's still there, Davy, looking out for you. Every day."

"I miss my dad, too, Tim." The boy went on, looking up in Tim's face.

Using his thumb, Tim brushed a tear from Davy's small face and smiled comfortingly. "One day, he'll be back home, Davy. You know your dad loves you. He's still grieving and it made him sick, you know, but he loves you. He's making enormous strides, but it takes time. When he's ready, he'll be back home."

The boy nodded as he considered Tim's words.

He was now staying with his grandparents on both his parents' sides. They all saw the sense in this...for the boy's sake. What a luck they lived not too far apart. He still went to his old school where he had most of his friends and he was allowed to visit his father as often as was possible. He was an astute boy who saw the improvement his dad was making and together, they were looking forward to that day when Malcolm would be sufficiently healed to take up his duties as a father.

Davy pointed a little finger to one of the small snow angels.

"There's Naomi. She's in heaven, now, with mom. I'm here...with dad. We take care of each other, now."

"And the other little angels?"

"They're her friends, Tim."

"You"ll be okay, Davy. You'll make your dad proud of you."

Giving the boy a gentle squeeze at the shoulders, Tim stared ahead.

"We all do."

FINIS

* * *

><p><strong>Sad but, there it is: The End. I hope you all enjoyed this. However, you may still offer your opinions: I try to reply to each and every single one of them.<br>**


End file.
